


exception to the rule

by justlikeswitchblades



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Hockey, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-22
Updated: 2017-01-22
Packaged: 2018-09-19 07:39:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9427094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justlikeswitchblades/pseuds/justlikeswitchblades
Summary: Tatsuya delivers checks hard and fast on the ice. That's just how the game is played.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stephanericher](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stephanericher/gifts).



> i haven't written much of tatsuya or kagahimu honestly but that just might change :') i hope i did your boy justice!

Hockey is a sport where having time to think is a foreign concept. It hits on an instinctive, impulsive part of Tatsuya, giving him a high that never fails to revive him with its nightly intensity. But it’s not uncommon for those who see him on the ice for the first time to be surprised by his apparent shift in personality.

In a sense, he gets where they’re coming from. Growing up, Tatsuya remembers more than one teacher telling him to speak up more often in class, to socialize more amongst his peers. He was intelligent, they told him, even with grades that were above average at best, and they wanted him to succeed.

Tatsuya, in his mind, was succeeding. He was no wallflower; he just made acquaintances when it was convenient. He spoke up in class when he got tired of his classmates’ reticence, even if he didn’t know the right answer. His friendships were rare, true, but they were not without unique intimacies of their own. 

In the locker room and on the ice, Tatsuya opens up. He talks strategy with ease, making some suggest that he should let the coaches do their jobs, while others talk about what his coaching style might look like a few decades down the line. Physical and verbal jabs earn him the ire of opposing teams and referees alike, to the joke that his chatter should’ve landed him in baseball—though he’s yet to publicly question whether that comment is inspired by his mouth, or his color.

Still, he likes to think his communication style has helped him earn the A on his chest. And with an NHL prospect position secured in the second round of the draft, he hasn’t found much reason to quiet down just yet.

It’s their first road game of the season, and by the middle of the third period, they’re trailing by one. Their coach has put Taiga at center, which is a slight to Tatsuya, even if they’ve been practicing like this since August. A few more pucks come his way, sure, but it still stings, and his timing is off under pressure. That, and with a brick wall of a goalie in the net, it hasn’t been Tatsuya’s best game. But he’s never been the type to keel over and take a loss, no matter the point gap. Raising team morale is something of his specialty. 

Deep in the offensive zone, the opposing winger sidles up to him outside of the faceoff circle. Freckled with blue eyes and dark eyebrows, the number thirty-three embroidered on the arm of his jersey. Nothing special in appearance, Tatsuya has judged, let alone his style of play.

“Hey,” Thirty-three taps the back of Tatsuya’s thigh with the end of his stick, jerking his head towards Taiga, “Your buddy there a fan of Sid Crosby?”

Tatsuya’s eyes shift away from Taiga for a second, positing a glare out from underneath his shield. “What's it to you?”

“Not much,” The winger smirks, “Just heard he likes to cheat on his faceoffs.”

Tatsuya’s gaze drops to Taiga’s skates, drifting from the lines as he leans down. The linesman pulls back up, and the two centers spin in frustrated circles before leaning down again to reset. Tatsuya clenches his jaw, exhaling through his nose as he adjusts his grip.

“Funny,” He drones, rolling his eyes, “You put as much effort into your play as you do your humor?”

“Takes one to know one,” Thirty-three shrugs, “They say the fastest thing you do on the ice is drop your gloves.”

Tatsuya wheels towards him, but the opposing team wins the faceoff, and he redirects his swear. First, he drops back to Taiga, barking something about working on his faceoffs, then he rushes after the winger, who receives the pass. He chases him down the ice and checks him hard against the boards, his stick a little too high—maybe on accident, most likely on purpose—as he tries to pull away.

He hooks him by the waist, and his stick goes to the ice, gloves following shortly after. The ref’s whistle is blaring, and the linesman’s stripes are in his periphery, but he yanks off the winger’s helmet, that too flying as his fist connects with his jaw. He gets in another right, hitting him square in the nose, and then a few more before the linesmen manage to pull them apart, pushing him back into the mass of roaring bodies that has formed around them. Thirty-three shoots him a contemptuous look, wiping at his bloodied nose, and Tatsuya’s lip curls.

“Hope that was speedy enough for you,” He sneers, taking his gloves and stick back from a teammate. On his way to the penalty box, he catches sight of Taiga, rolling his eyes, but with a smile on his face. He watches from behind the glass as his penalty is killed. The clock is winding down when he returns to the ice, but it only takes a minute to tie it up again.

The next intermission flies by, and they quickly secure the win in overtime.

***

Being a scholarship athlete has its perks. To Tatsuya, the only one that matters is near 24-hour rink access, just a short drive away from his apartment off campus. He can skate alone, but he practices best with Taiga—and well, he doesn't mind having an extra excuse to spend time with him.

Taiga is fond of rituals. They help keep him focused, he tells Tatsuya, and on the weekends he can still be found in the locker room, slipping into his pads like before any game, save for his bucket, even if all he does is pull a hoodie on over them. Tatsuya likes watching him, the method and the rhythm, the slow way he laces up his skates with rough fingers. Taiga usually offers to help him into his own gear, though Tatsuya politely declines, tying his bangs back. It’s their own routine, in a way.

Tatsuya skates idly around the ice, rolling his stick in his palms. It's quiet, save for the two of them, him skating, Taiga firing a volley of pucks at an empty net from the blue line. Their eyes meet across the ice, just for a second before Taiga nets another, whistling in approval. He peels away from the line, looping around center ice before heading towards Tatsuya, stopping and showering him with a spray of ice from his skates.

Tatsuya stands still, eyes going wide as Taiga starts to back away. Then, he grins, his stick clattering to the ice as he launches after Taiga, who raises his hands up in a gesture for mercy. Tatsuya laughs, gliding into him as gentle as he can with his diminishing speed, and pins him against the glass, his pads providing him with a measure of cushion.

“Aw, c’mon, Taiga,” He sighs, smiling, “I miss when you put more effort into antagonizing people on the ice. Where’d that fiery boy I played juniors with go?”

“Tatsuya, be serious,” Taiga clears his throat, squirming just a little, but not putting up much resistance against Tatsuya’s check, “We’re in college now.”

“When they called you Tiger, for reasons beyond the obvious,” Tatsuya hums, cold hands settling fondly on the back of Taiga’s neck. A grin twitches at the corner of Taiga’s mouth.

“I can be mean,” He insists, reaching to the back of Tatsuya’s head to tug at his ponytail, “Like, what the hell is this?” Tatsuya squints, lowering his eyebrows with a true measure of seriousness.

“Hey, that's not fair. I'm not so dumb that I'm going to play with my hair in my eyes.”

“You can cut it! Shit, I could do it for you.”

Tatsuya clicks his teeth. “And where do you start getting off on my appearance, huh? You're the one who hasn't shaved in three weeks!” He pulls his hand up, thumb brushing over the hairs on Taiga’s upper lip, which Taiga is quick to bat away.

“I’m getting an early start on my playoff beard, shut up!” He pauses, scratching self-consciously at the thin beard on his cheek that’s been slow to fill in.

“…It doesn’t look bad, does it?”

Tatsuya shakes his head, smiling. “It's fine. Just promise me you won't let it get out of control.”

“Sure. What does out of control look like?”

“Oh, you’ll know,” Tatsuya hints as he leans in and cups Taiga’s cheek, fitting his mouth against chapped lips, a spark of warmth in the otherwise chilly rink. Taiga’s hands grasp at the front of his sweatshirt, holding him close. His shoulders slope with a contented sigh, the drawstring of Tatsuya’s hood loosely unspooling from around his finger when he pulls away.

Tatsuya lazily skates back to their sticks, gathering them up, along with the plastic bucket perched atop the boards. He meets Taiga near the goal, who takes his stick, gathering the stray pucks up and sweeping them inside. Grabbing the bucket handle, Tatsuya skates to the boards again, heading to the locker room with Taiga close behind.


End file.
